


Against All Odds

by Corvo (Duchess_Of_York)



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Antony's POV, Brutus Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character - Freeform, Post Philippi, What-If, Whump, Written a while ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-08-20 12:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchess_Of_York/pseuds/Corvo
Summary: Brutus survives his suicide attempt. Antony tries to help, behind Octavian's back.





	1. Chapter 1

I decide that it would be best to say some words over Brutus’s body. I know he probably can’t hear me, but it’s the thought that counts. I mention how he was noble, how simple his life was, stuff like that. Octavian looks at me like I’m crazy for saying this. Then, he talks about how we’ll keep Brutus’s body in his tent. I don’t quite know what he plans to do with it. Knowing him, he’ll probably do something sick, like dismember it and have his enemies eat it, or cut off its head and display it in the center of Rome for several days.

I’m only half-listening while he’s rambling on. I notice something- Brutus’s body seems to twitch, slightly. Is he alive? I think. No, he couldn’t be…

Octavian leaves, thank the gods, and I’m left alone with the body. I could tell something wasn’t right. Brutus didn’t look dead, at least, not yet. I crouch down beside him. “Brutus?” I cautiously whisper. He doesn’t move. I’m still not convinced he’s dead. I shake him lightly as I call out his name again, “Brutus.” He groans and opens his eyes. By some miracle, he’s alive. Immediately, I tear off a bit of my cloak and use it to start putting pressure on his chest. His breath hitches, and he starts struggling, trying to get away. The pressure I’m applying to his chest is painful for him, I know, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and he can’t afford to lose any more. I try to calm him down by whispering some encouraging words in his ear. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be alright…” I guess that worked because he stops struggling shortly after.

My mind is racing with thoughts on what to do next. I can’t tell Octavian that Brutus is alive, that’s for sure. Who knows what Octavian would do to him then? Torture him? Publicly humiliate him? I couldn’t let Brutus go through that.

I thought of an idea. Right there. On the spot. I’m a genius.

I will take Brutus to Egypt, where he can be safe and start a new life. I’ll get my men to search the battlefield for someone who looks like Brutus. We can keep them in Octavian’s tent. I want to call for my men to bring a stretcher for him, but he’s fading fast, and I don’t think they can make it in time.

I grab his hand and place the piece of my torn cloak in it before positioning his hand and the cloak over his wound. “Press down, okay?” he groans again, but I think he does what I say. He needs to keep pressure on the wound so he doesn’t bleed out further. I wrap the rest of my cloak around him before I gently pick him up. He’s pretty light. I always knew he wasn’t the strongest of men, or the heaviest, but I never expected him to be this easy to pick up. He’s so thin, I begin to wonder if he has even eaten in the past few days. I feel his head resting on my shoulder, and I run, as fast my legs can carry me, to the nearest medical tent. 

I find it odd that I’m carrying him like this. I remember carrying the body of Caesar at the funeral. Even Caesar’s body was heavier than Brutus’s. It’s so unusual that I am now carrying the body of the man who killed him, in an effort to save his life. 

“Try and stay awake, Brutus,” I attempt to encourage him, however, at this point, I’m not sure he can even hear me. I think I hear him groan a bit, but it’s hard to tell. I don’t know what would happen if he fell asleep, but I don’t think I want to find out. 

I enter the medical tent to find it seemingly empty, save for one man. He’s about as tall as me, with dirty blond hair. His eyes are an odd mix of blue and green. He’s standing close to the entrance, but I rush past him and lie Brutus on the nearest cot that I see. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy. The anguished expression on his face is the only indication to me that he is still awake. I peel my blood-soaked cloak from his body. I turn and see the man from the entrance has followed me.

“I am the surgeon,” he explains, “Lucius Cornelius Messala. What happened?”

I explain what happened, and the surgeon grimaces when I say the name “Brutus.”

“This man,” he looks down at Brutus in disgust, “is a traitor.”

“I can’t deny that,” I respond, “but you’re going to fix him.”

“No, I am not!”

“Yes, you are!” I’m kind of mad at this point, and I can tell he is, too. However, I don’t want to anger him further. “I will pay you handsomely. Please, help him.”

I can tell he’s conflicted. Surgeons don’t get payed a lot. “…How much?”

“I’ll tell you when we get to Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

“Yes, Egypt. I am going to take Brutus to Egypt where he can be safe. I need you to come along to take care of him.” He starts thinking about it, but I’m impatient, “Make up your mind! His life depends on it!”

Cornelius doesn’t say anything, but he turns his attention to Brutus. He grabs a knife and uses it to cut off Brutus’s tunic. There’s so much blood. I watch as Cornelius somehow manages to clean it all up. He takes a cloth and holds it over Brutus’s wound for what seems like a long time before cleaning the wound again with an herb and finally bandaging it. Brutus turns his head, but he doesn’t make a sound. Cornelius pours a cup of wine and makes him drink it, and I notice Brutus’s expression soften. I think he’s asleep now. 

“…Is he going to be okay?” I finally ask after an uncomfortably long silence.

“It’s too soon to tell. Let’s just hope his wound doesn’t get infected.”

“Alright. It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen on the way to Egypt.” He doesn’t object. 

-

I rush to put this plan further into motion. I tell Cornelius to keep an eye on Brutus as I exit the tent. I organize my men and tell them of the plan. They don’t seem very happy, so I promise them a reward once we get to Egypt. They perk up a bit after that.

They find a body that looks a bit like Brutus, and I tell them to put it in Octavian’s tent. I worry that he may suspect something, but I remember that I have seen Brutus many more times than he has, and he probably wouldn’t be able to recognize him, anyway.

I want to leave as soon as possible, hopefully before Octavian has time to get a close look at the body we put in his tent. Cornelius gets some of my men to place Brutus on a stretcher and carry him to my ship. We get a few last minute supplies, I say a quick goodbye to Octavian and Lepidus, and we set sail from there.

Cornelius gets Brutus settled in a bunk on the ship. It’s small, but it will do. I go in and check on him after a while. Cornelius isn’t in the cabin, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

Brutus is lying still, almost as still as a corpse. I worry for a second that he actually is a corpse, but the rising and falling of his chest tells me otherwise. A blanket is draped over his thin form. His eyes are closed, and his features are soft. His skin is so pale, it mimics the color of the white bandages wrapped around his chest. I can see dark circles under his eyes. I don’t imagine he has gotten very much sleep in the past few days, maybe even weeks. I’m glad he’s finally resting now.

I stay by him for a few minutes until Cornelius comes back. He places his hand on Brutus’s head and he checks his bandages. I notice a bit of blood seeping through.

“How is he?” I whisper.

“Well…” Cornelius says, “He’s breathing.” He looks at me intently. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he sighs, “I don’t know what you’re thinking… He’s the enemy.”

“He is no longer our enemy. We won the battle, and I think he deserves better,” I try to explain, “You have to admit, out of all of the conspirators, he was the least awful. He didn’t kill Caesar out of jealousy like the others did.”

Cornelius shakes his head, “You’ll regret this. I’m sure of it. Once Octavius finds out what you’re doing, you’re as good as dead.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” I’m confident in my response, “I’m positive he won’t find out. Look at all the lengths I’ve gone through to carry this whole plan out. I hired you to come with me and take care of him, I placed the body of someone who looked like him in Octavian’s tent…”

“We can’t keep this up forever.”

“We can and we will,” I sigh, “We have to.”

“Antonius…” He turns away, “Fine. Whatever you say. I’ll continue helping you,” he turns back to me, “Just don’t forget to pay me when we get to Egypt.”

“I won’t, I promise,” a small smile crosses my lips, “Thank you.”

-

Brutus was small, but he could scream really loud.

Cornelius stitches up Brutus’s wound as other men hold him down. Brutus tosses and turns, squirming, trying to get away. His eyes are wide with fear. He’s acting as if these men are trying to murder him or something.

I go over to him and help hold him down. “Brutus!” I shout, trying to get his attention. I can’t tell if he can’t hear me or if he’s just not listening. I try a different approach. “Shhh, Brutus…” I say, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, “Calm down, they’re only trying to help,” I explain. I guess he listens this time, because he stops fighting and he goes quiet. He’s struggling to catch his breath, like a fish out of water.

He has tears in his eyes, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. He’s staring right at me, shaking “C-Cassius?” his voice cracks as he weakly calls out the name.

I don’t quite know how to respond to this. Is he asking for Cassius? Does he remember that Cassius is dead? I honestly don’t know. The only thing I can think to say is “I’m not Cassius.”

Brutus doesn’t fight any more as Cornelius finishes and wraps up his wound. He stares at me the whole time. Cornelius and the other men leave, and I am left alone with Brutus. I sit beside him on the edge of the bed. He slowly sits up and hugs me. I’m surprised he’s able to do that, considering how weak he is. He buries his face in my neck and starts crying. “Cassius….” He softly weeps. “Cassius, I’m sorry…” It’s then that I begin to wonder how intimate Brutus and Cassius were. I had heard rumors, but I didn’t think any of them were true.

I hug him back, not quite sure what to do, “Shhh, it’s okay…” I lightly rub his back, trying to comfort him as he trembles and sobs in my arms.

“I-It hurts…” he cries.

“I know, I know…” I really do feel bad for him. I wish there was something I could do to alleviate his pain.

“Please don’t leave…”

“I won’t,” I reassure him, “I promise.”

He doesn’t stop crying. He cries and cries until my neck is soaking wet. I have never seen him this upset. Every time I had seen him at the Senate, he was calm and collected.

I hum, softly, in an effort to calm him. I used to hum to my children when they were sick or couldn’t sleep. It worked then, and it appears to be working now because Brutus’s cries are growing quieter. It isn’t long before he falls asleep.

I gently lie him back down. He seems at peace. As I wipe the tears from his face, I notice how much younger he looks when he’s asleep. I pull the covers over him, making sure he’s warm and comfortable before I leave.

\--

I watch as he tosses and turns, fading in and out of consciousness. He’s restless and delirious, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him. Once, he tossed and turned so violently that he tore his stitches, and Cornelius had to redo them. He mumbles things in his sleep, but I can’t hear what he says. Occasionally, he wakes up and turns to look at me. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares, his lips parted, his foggy, unfocused brown eyes gazing into mine before blinking a few times and finally closing. Sometimes he wakes up screaming, only to fall asleep again a few seconds later. I don’t know if this is normal. Cornelius doesn’t seem concerned. 

That is, until Brutus starts running fever.

Brutus is getting worse. He’s paler, and his skin is as hot as fire. He gets seasick a lot, but luckily Cornelius is always by his side, so he’s there for him when he vomits. Brutus doesn’t wake up as often, and he’s even less coherent than he was before, if that’s even possible.

I go into his cabin one day, and I see that he’s shaking. He is so drenched in sweat that the blankets are clinging to him, yet he’s shivering as if it’s the middle of winter. I look around, and I don’t see Cornelius. I don’t want to leave Brutus alone, so I tell one of Cornelius’s assistants, who happened to be standing not too far from the cabin, to keep an eye on him.

Cornelius is on the other side of the ship, pouring a cup of wine. “What are you doing?” I ask, “Brutus is suffering, and you’re pouring yourself a glass of wine?”

He frowns, glaring at me, “It’s not for me, it’s for him,” he hands it to me, “Make him drink this. His wound is infected, and I need to clean it. I don’t want to have to hold him down again.”

I go back to Brutus’s room, dismissing the servant. “Cass…?” I hear him weakly call out. I place a hand on his forehead, and I feel that he’s still burning with fever. “Cassius?”

“I’m sorry, Brutus, Cassius isn’t here,” I whisper. I gently lift his head and hold the cup to his lips, allowing him to drink. I make sure he drinks all of it before I rest his head back on the pillow.

He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t fall asleep. I can see his eyebrows furrowed together, almost as though he’s trying desperately to stay awake. I don’t understand why he’s doing that. If I were in his position, I’d want to sleep as much as possible. “Go to sleep, Brutus,” I whisper. I watch as he relaxes, giving in and allowing himself to sleep.

\--

Cornelius undoes the bandages on Brutus’s chest, and the scent of rotting flesh fills the room. It honestly smells like death, and I’m very concerned. Cornelius removes the stitches, and the smell gets even worse. He appears unfazed. I have a feeling that he’s done things like this many times before. He’s already so old, so experience, but I know that he’s only about 30. I begin to wonder about his life, but I know that now is not the time to ask him about it. 

He applies an herb to Brutus’s wound. Brutus doesn’t react, he just lies there, quietly. He’s pale and sickly but he appears to be sleeping soundly. Cornelius cleans the wound more and applies new bandages. He doesn’t redo the stitching.

“Is he going to be okay?” I whisper.

Cornelius sighs. “To be honest with you, I don’t think he will survive the night.”

“What?!?” I’m glad he’s being honest with me, but I’m shocked, “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing. We’ve done all we can,” he doesn’t seem very concerned. I have a feeling he’s dealt with these kinds of situations numerous times. “I’ll watch him. Who knows? He may surprise us.”

I stay for most of the night, watching Brutus with Cornelius. Cornelius dabs a cold cloth on Brutus’s forehead, trying to fight away his fever. Brutus doesn’t stir, not once, which surprises me since I’ve spent the last few days watching him restlessly toss and turn. His pale, bandaged chest evenly rises and falls with each breath. 

I go outside for some fresh air. I stretch out my arms and yawn loudly before looking out into the distance. I see a light, far off, and I think it’s a star at first. It isn’t long before I realize what it really is: a lighthouse.

I smile. Soon, we will be in Egypt.

I only hope Brutus can make it til then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third Person/Brutus's POV

“…the noblest Roman of them all…” he heard. The voice sounded familiar, but far away. His mind was too foggy to even consider who the voice may belong to. Excruciating pain distorted his senses as he laid there, helpless and unable to move. His clothes and the ground he was lying on were drenched in blood. _His_ blood.

 

The voice continued speaking, but he couldn’t hear what it said. Another voice spoke. Something about a body. His body? Was he already dead? He was still breathing, barely. He wanted to open his eyes and see what was going on, but he felt as though his eyelids were glued shut. He tried to move, but the pain was too much. He twitched, slightly.

 

He heard footsteps growing fainter and fainter until they were gone. He wasn’t alone, he knew. He could sense someone else beside him. “….Brutus…?” he heard the first voice calling out his name. He didn’t move- he couldn’t move. “Brutus,” the voice said again. This time, someone shook him. It hurt, causing him to groan and open his eyes. A figure was crouched down beside him, but his vision was unfocused, and he couldn’t make out who it was. He choked back a cry as the figure started putting pressure on his chest. He squirmed, trying to get away, but he was too tired to fight back. He stopped struggling and gave in. “Don’t worry,” the voice’s whisper echoed in his ears as he felt his eyes begin to close again. The world around him began fading, and the last thing he heard was the voice saying “You’re going to be alright…”

 

-

 

When he awoke, he felt ill, and he didn’t know where he was. He was lying in a bed, he could tell, and something was constricting his chest. It made it very difficult to breathe. He felt dizzy, like he was swaying, and it only added to his nausea. Sweat soaked bedsheets clung to his thin frame. He clutched them in his hands, as if they would help to steady him. He considered getting up and examining his surroundings further, but just the thought of it made him feel even sicker. He could barely move and barely think. His head was swimming. He heard a door open, but everything faded to black before he could see who it was.

 

 

-

 

The sound of two voices whispering filled his ears. He could barely make out what they were saying, and he didn’t have enough strength to open his eyes.

“I can’t believe what you’re doing... He’s the enemy...”

“I know... but he deserves better... Out of all of them, he was the least awful....” Were they talking about him?

“You’ll regret this... I’m sure of it. Once Octavius finds out, you’re as good as dead...”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. I’m positive he won’t find out. Look at all the lengths I’ve gone through...”

“We can’t keep this up forever.”

“We can and we will. We have to.”

“Antonius…“

Brutus fell back asleep before he could hear any more.

 

-

 

He panicked as he felt hands holding him down. He tossed and turned, trying to get away, but to no avail. He screamed until his throat felt like it was on fire. Sweat beaded at his forehead. He had to get away- _he had to_. He suffered through the knives penetrating his chest again and again, all managing to hit the same spot. His friends- his brothers- the Liberatores all surrounded him, holding him down and taking turns stabbing him like they did to Caesar.

“Brutus!” someone called his name. He continued struggling, resisting the hands, resisting the stabbing. “Shhh, Brutus…” the voice sounded much nicer now, much calmer. “Calm down. They’re only trying to help.” He stopped squirming, breathing heavily as he tried desperately to catch his breath. He saw who the voice belonged to.

“C-Cassius?” Brutus recognized those green eyes. Only two people he knew had eyes like that: Cassius and Marc Antony. He knew it couldn’t be Antony. If Antony were there, he would only stand idly by while the others stabbed him.

Cassius looked at him, clearly confused, “I’m not Cassius.”

Brutus looked at him again. He knew it was Cassius. There was no way it couldn’t be Cassius. Then again, there was something off about him. Brutus just couldn’t think of it.

The Liberatores finished stabbing and released him. They quickly left the room as Cassius sat at the edge of the bed. Brutus used all of his strength to sit up and hug him.

“Cassius…” he hugged him as tightly as he could as he buried his face in Cassius’s neck, crying. Cassius reluctantly hugged him back. He wanted Cassius to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay, to kiss him like he used to before any of this started. “Cassius, I’m sorry…”

“Shhhh, it’s okay…” he felt Cassius lightly rub his back.

“I-It hurts…” he struggled to speak.

“I know, I know…”

“Please don’t leave…”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Brutus held onto Cassius and sobbed into his neck. He heard Cassius humming softly, and felt the vibrations of his chest. It calmed him. His crying quieted down as he listened closely to the humming. He closed his eyes, still holding onto Cassius, and felt himself growing very tired. An odd thought crossed his mind right before he fell asleep. _Cassius hates music…_

_-_

He wanted this hell to end. His chest burned, his body ached. He was shivering despite the heat making him feel like he was on fire. His heart was pounding fast in his chest, as if he has just finished running a marathon. This was the worst pain he had ever endured. Was he dead? He was sure he was dead. He was in Tartarus, he figured. This was his punishment for killing Caesar. He knew he deserved this, but he wasn’t ready for an eternity of this torture.

 

“Cass…?” he weakly choked out. He wondered if Cassius could even hear him.

 

A cool hand was placed on his forehead. Cassius’s green eyes locked with his before he removed his hand.

 

“Cassius?” Brutus called out again.

 

“I’m sorry, Brutus, Cassius isn’t here,” he heard Cassius say. This didn’t make any sense. Cassius was right there. Brutus could clearly see him. Once again, Brutus noticed there was something off about Cassius, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

Cassius gently lifted Brutus’s head and held a cup to his lips. Brutus drank, and it tasted like wine. When he finished, Cassius set his head back on the pillow.

Brutus was dizzy and confused before, but now it was even worse. He closed his eyes, too weak to keep them open any longer. He stopped shivering as numbness started taking over his body. Why was he so sleepy? He knew. The wine was poisoned. Cassius was trying to poison him. He tried to fight it. He didn’t want to go to sleep because he knew he would probably never wake up. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to-

 

“Go to sleep, Brutus,” he heard Cassius whisper. He couldn’t fight anymore. He was dragged into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

-

 

 

The light of the morning sun caused Brutus to wake from his sleep. The sun was bright, so bright that it almost hurt his eyes. He felt as though he had been sleeping for a very long time. “Lucius…” he called. His voice sounded less like a shout and more like a strained whisper, “Bring me a cup of wine…” Something was wrapped around his chest, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He let out a long sigh as he uncomfortably shifted in his bed. Only, it wasn’t his bed. He stared at the ceiling, and realized it definitely wasn’t his ceiling. He wanted to sit up, but he felt too weak. He turned his head, slightly, and locked eyes with Marcus Antonius.

 

He gasped as memories of the battle filled his mind. Antony was his enemy, and now he was in his hands. He had heard horrible stories of Antony killing his enemies in brutal ways. Of course, they were just stories, but he didn’t want to find out for himself if they were true.

 

“A-Antony,” he weakly greeted as his heart pounded in his chest.

 

Antony smiled, “I’m glad you’re finally awake.”

 

Brutus tried to appear as stoic as possible while his enemy continued grinning at him. “If you’re going to kill me, you might as well do it now.”

 

Antony seemed confused, “Kill you? What makes you think I’d do that?”

 

“We’re enemies…” he suddenly remembered something. “Where’s Cassius?”

 

Antony’s response was hesitant. “Brutus… Cassius is dead.”

 

Brutus was shocked. “Dead? He can’t be dead… I saw him…” He first remembered seeing Cassius’s eyes, but then he remembered seeing Cassius’s body, days ago, lying on the battlefield. “Then who was-?”

 

“Me,” Antony explained, “You thought I was Cassius.”

 

“That’s impossible. You look nothing like Cassius!” he almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He looked into Antony’s eyes and noticed that they were very green, much like Cassius’s.

 

“You were delirious.”

 

Brutus was even more confused. He placed a hand on his aching chest, only to realize his chest was wrapped in bandages. His eyes widened.

 

“…I tried to kill myself.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You… you saved me…” Antony nodded. Brutus lied there in disbelief. He wasn’t sure if he was happy, sad, scared, or surprised. Perhaps he was a mixture of all four. However, one thing was certain: he was glad he wasn’t dead. “…Thank you.”

 

“It was the least I could do.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, you saved my life by convincing the Liberatores to not kill me, so I saved yours. We’re even.”

 

Brutus sighed. “Alright,” he gazed out the window. “Where are we?”

 

“Egypt.”

 

“Egypt!?!” Brutus quickly sat up in shock. The intense dizziness and pain he experienced told him that was a bad idea. “Egypt? What? How long have I been-?”

 

Antony calmly put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back on the bed. “Easy, Brutus. You’ve been unconscious and delirious for about a week and a half now.”

 

He didn’t know what to make of this. A lot could happen in a week and a half.

 

“Why are we in Egypt?”

 

“We need to hide you from Octavian. If he finds out you’re not dead… well…” Antony trailed off, but Brutus still knew what he meant. “Anyway, right now we’re in Cleopatra’s palace. She’s not overly excited about you being here, but she said you can stay for as long as you need to.”

 

“Does this mean I can never go back to Rome?”

 

“Not for now. We need you to stay here, in Egypt, until everything calms down.”

 

This was a lot to take in. He needed a minute.

 

“So… Cleopatra…” he tried to change the subject to keep his mind off of the situation, “Is she here?”

 

The grin of a lovesick boy crossed Antony’s face. “She’s in the other room. Do you want to meet her?”

 

“Not right now,” Brutus didn’t want the most powerful woman in Egypt to see him like this. Fatigue was beginning to gnaw at him, anyway. He wasn’t sure he could stay awake much longer. He felt as though he had just slept for an eternity, and, right now, he wouldn’t mind sleeping for another. “Just tell me about her. Is she pretty?”

 

“Gorgeous,” Antony went on and on about how beautiful and smart and wonderful Cleopatra was. Brutus smiled as he closed his eyes. Antony thought of Cleopatra the same way he thought of Portia. _Perhaps_ , he thought as he drifted off to sleep, _we’re not so different after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I decided to upload another "chapter" of this cringefest. Oh well. It ain't much but it's honest work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. I know it's not finished, and it probably never will be, but it feels good to get it out there. This is actually the beginning of a second draft of a 10,000+ word fic I wrote in an attempt to cope with one of my friends moving away. I know a lot of things probably don't make sense, but it was written in 2016, and I've learned a lot since then. I just didn't want to change this, though, because it was important to me, then. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Also, I wrote an alternate version of this, from Brutus's perspective, that goes on a bit longer (in the second draft). Maybe I'll post it if there's enough interest.


End file.
